


equal and opposite reaction

by schittyfic (sixtysevenlmpala)



Category: Schitt's Creek (TV) RPF
Genre: A few years into the future, Drunken Confessions, Episode: s04e09 The Olive Branch, Everyone is Single - Freeform, Future Fic, Getting Together, Humor, Idk my timeline is as vague as DJL's, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Teasing, The pining is very minimal this is very soft, no infidelity, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/schittyfic
Summary: "Yeah, well, all you had to do was sit in a chair and watch me make an ass of myself," Dan grumbles, waving his glass around dangerously, but an easy grin spreads across his face."Easiest reacting of my life," Noah says, holding Dan's gaze as he tips the bottle to his lips.Dan's used to it by now - the hopeful flutters in the pit of his stomach, swelling up and up until they crush his lungs. He's used to pasting on a playful smirk and squashing that hope down into something small enough to breathe again.
Relationships: Dan Levy/Noah Reid
Comments: 28
Kudos: 113





	equal and opposite reaction

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing spiralled from a throwaway conversation in the discord, so thanks to all y'all for inadvertently making this happen. 
> 
> Special thank yous to TINN, who assured me this was not, in fact, trash, and also gave it a title; and Delilah McMuffin, who supplied the funniest lines in here. <3
> 
> Everyone's single in this - no infidelity here, folks!

*

It's not like Dan's never watched the scene. He couldn’t escape popping into the editing room at least… a few times, while people far less emotionally-compromised than himself took care of the minute details. He glanced a cursory eye over the final cut, nodded his acquiescence, and then he headed home, uncorked a vintage red, and vowed to sponge it from his memory.

When the episode aired, he scrambled to the kitchen on the flimsy pretense of replenishing the cheeseboard, while Trevor and Annie squealed and laughed and " _O_ _h my god, Dan,_ "-ed from his lounge. 

He was proud of the scene. He was proud of the moment, for David; he poured growth and vulnerability and sweetness into it and he knew it paid off. Even if the cost was starring in the most mortifying lip sync in history, which he’d so far successfully managed to avoid witnessing in its entirety.

"Come on, never? Not _once._ "

Dan blinks slowly out of his wine-tinged reverie and rolls his eyes at Noah, who's sprawled over the other end of Dan's plush couch and poking Dan's thigh with his socked toes.

"Um, of course I haven't _watched it_. Why would I feel the need to do that to myself?"

"It's really not that bad, Daniel."

"I was _prosecco-drunk!_ They shouldn't have even let me on camera!"

Noah giggles into his beer bottle - honest-to-god giggles, like he does every time he's tipsy. Dan bites back a fond smile, like he does every time Noah giggles. "We were both prosecco-drunk. And I've seen it plenty of times."

"Yeah, well, all you had to do was sit in a chair and watch me make an ass of myself," Dan grumbles, waving his glass around dangerously, but an easy grin spreads across his face.

"Easiest reacting of my life," Noah says, holding Dan's gaze as he tips the bottle to his lips.

Dan's used to it by now - the hopeful flutters in the pit of his stomach, swelling up and up until they crush his lungs. He's used to pasting on a playful smirk and squashing that hope down into something small enough to breathe again.

“C’mon. How much would it take?”

“Excuse me?”

“To watch it right now. Name your price. Getting to witness your unfiltered reaction is a prize worth paying for.”

“Oh, you’d never, ever make enough.” Dan tries for solemn, but a laugh bubbles up - it’s not even _funny_ , but Noah’s laughing too, the couch shaking with it until Noah’s wiping tears from his eyes.

“Alright, fine - how much more wine, then?” Noah’s eyes are gleaming in the soft, warm light, and Dan is reminded for the thousandth time how fragile his walls are with Noah, how easily he’ll bend to give him what he asks for. If he’d only ask for more.

Dan considers him, swirling the rich Burgundy around his glass in a way intended to be pensive, but actually ends in him sloshing a little over his lap with a hissed, “ _Fuck_ ,” which sets Noah off again. It’s a while before Dan fumbles his way back to the thread of the conversation, screwing up his face with the effort of finding it. “A lot,” he says finally, gesturing to the empty bottle on the table. “A _lot_ more wine.”

Noah grins triumphantly, a positively _evil_ twist to it as he jumps up and pads into Dan’s kitchen with as much practiced comfort as if he owns the place too. He’s not here as often these days, not since the show ended, but on each visit he manages to slot himself into Dan’s life like he never left. He returns with a wine bottle in each hand, and Dan’s eyes bulge. 

“Aren’t you on beer?”

“Oh, yup. These are for you. Drink up, Daniel, we’ve got a show to watch.”

*

Dan doesn’t remember how they both ended up squished onto one end of the couch. It’s a very spacious couch. He paid far, far too much for it. He thinks it was - right, yeah, the remote control. There’s a vague memory of Noah snatching it from his hands when Dan tried to backtrack on the deal, both of them pushing and shoving and grabbing until Dan had collapsed on top of him, muttering choice words as Noah cackled and brought up Dan’s Netflix account on the wide screen mounted on the wall. 

He could have easily crawled back to his own side. His drink is over there. The drink is nice. But he’s probably had enough of that, now, and he doesn’t think - he’s not quite had enough of _this_. Noah’s ridiculous body heat glued to his side, the scent of his woodsy cologne wafting from the hollow of his neck, which glistens a little with the sheen of alcohol.

Noah cues up the episode and instantly starts fast-forwarding, Dan letting out an indignant squawk as the time marker flies along the bottom of the screen.

“Wait - _nooo_ , we need to - watch the thing, the whole thing. Episode. Put it in context, at least!”

“We know the context!” Noah laughs, dodging another grab for the remote. “Stalling’s gonna get you absolutely nowhere, man.” 

Dan _hates_ how coherent his sentences are. He knows from the sweat-curled hair on his forehead and the too-wide grin that he’s just as far-gone as Dan is, but he’s managing to keep it together in the most infuriating way. Noah hits play, and Dan squints at himself on the screen, lip curling exaggeratedly.

“Oh god. Oh _god_ ,” he groans, watching as David cues the music up, Patrick gazing at him expectantly from the chair. The music kicks in, as does his terrible click-step towards Patrick. Dan lets out an inhuman noise, burying his face in Noah’s shoulder.

“ _N_ _o_ , uh-uh, that wasn’t the deal,” Noah laughs, casually winding his fingers through Dan’s waves and tugging his head upwards, like it’s nothing, like that’s normal, and _oh_ , god, fuck. Dan goes with it so easily. He’d watch this abomination on a loop forever if it meant Noah never retracted his hand.

But he does, of course. Not without a final scritch to Dan’s scalp, comforting and grounding as Dan’s head slowly spins - but then it’s gone, and it’s hard to ignore how much he misses it.

“Good God, RuPaul would be afr- _affronted_ by this.” He’s _not_ slurring.

Noah snorts. “Okay, but is RuPaul really the calibre of person you wanna impress?”

Dan gives a conceding head-tilt, finding it inexplicably endearing that Noah is the only straight guy he knows who has the faintest idea of Drag Race discourse.

Why does he have to be so fucking perfect? It’s annoying.

Anyway.

Knowing Noah won’t let him look away again, Dan’s self-preservation instinct rouses itself. Instead of zeroing in on his own stupid face, his dad-dancing, the sweat sheening his forehead from the fucking leather sweater - no, instead of _any_ of that, he focuses on Noah. Um - Patrick.

On screen, Patrick schools away a smile the second David starts inching towards him, but it inevitably melts into that familiar upside-down curve. It’s a classic _Patrick_ smile, one Dan became accustomed to on set, and never really saw on Noah’s face otherwise. It’s comforting to watch - he always had faith that Noah would take Dan’s ridiculous concept for this scene and pull it together with his reactions, but seeing the evidence for the first time is reassuring, at least. It’s what he expects to see.

That is, until the moment Dan - David - leans in close, swooping past Patrick’s mouth at the last second, a not-quite kiss. Dan anticipates the look of pleased surprise, but what he’s not ready for is the mix of something else on Patrick’s face. He’s radiating something close to _awe_ , his face turned up to David and following his every move as if drawn by a magnet. He looks… enthralled, almost.

Not that that doesn’t _work_ for Patrick, in the moment, it’s just that - huh. Noah looks completely undeterred, but something about it just feels _off_ to Dan, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

He’s drunk. It’s probably nothing.

His gaze similarly catches on the narrow-eyed smoulder Patrick throws his way on _give me everything I need_ , but the muted questions in his head are quickly forgotten when --

“Oh my god, this part! The talky hands!” Noah’s voice is filled with glee, and Dan groans vehemently, Tina singing _speak the language of love like you know what it means_ through his sound system.

“For fuck’s sake. This looks like what would happen if - if Carlton Banks was white and had zero coordination.”

“No, no, come on, I mean - everyone knows the most _advanced_ form of dancing is miming the lyrics like you’re playing charades.”

“Fuck _off!_ ” 

Noah’s chuckling, but he squeezes Dan’s shoulder with one solid hand. Dan closes his eyes for a moment.

“Okay, okay, this - this is my favourite part, though. Genuinely.”

Snapping back, Dan frowns as he watches his arms flail about stupidly, beating invisible drums in the air. “I look like a fucking muppet, Noah.”

“No, you look…” Patrick shakes his head gently on screen and Dan sees longing in his eyes, that look of being so close to something and yet unable to reach out. He glances at Noah, and he sees the exact same face. It’s like a punch in the chest. Dan doesn’t know how to interpret it. “David’s letting himself be seen, really seen. You look - free. It’s nice. To watch.”

Dan’s quiet at that, nudging his glasses up his nose and steadfastly avoiding Noah’s gaze. That prickle at the nape of his neck is back, and it only intensifies as he watches more and more of Patrick’s reactions: his unbridled grinning through the chorus, the fondness brimming loudly in his eyes. He can barely register Noah laughing and sniping at him. The cogs in his brain are wine-drenched, but they’re turning.

Suddenly, as he watches David slide to his knees and Patrick punching the air, he knows why it feels odd. Why it feels slightly off-balance.

He knows Patrick intimately. He’s seen every Patrick micro-expression. He’s written them. He can pick out each one precisely in this scene - but they’re not alone. It’s _Noah_ that he can see bleeding through here and there.

No one else would notice, probably. But after so many years of wanting, Dan’s compiled a fairly sad but thorough catalogue of Noah’s grins and failed-winks, and he’s memorised the way his face shifts as he speaks and thinks and feels. He knows him when he sees him.

“That was you.” It comes out stupid and slow. Dan points unnecessarily at the screen, which is now blessedly black.

Noah snickers at him. “Well… yeah. Did you only just realise that’s who it was? How drunk _are_ you?”

“Very, but that’s not - that’s not…” Dan lets out a frustrated noise. “That wasn’t _Patrick_. I mean, it was, I’m not saying you… messed up or anything, you were great, but some - some of it. It’s you. It was you.”

Noah’s face falters, and Dan catches his Adam’s apple bobbing quietly. “What - what d’you mean?”

“I know Patrick’s face. I know _your_ face. They’re _different._ ” Dan’s speaking slowly, trying to carefully enunciate each syllable as his tongue feels numb and clumsy in his mouth. “That’s - that’s _your_ face.”

Noah gives a little laugh, one that Dan knows is forced. “I mean - we had a lot of prosecco. Maybe I - I broke character. It happens.”

“The way you were looking at me,” Dan says softly. His lips are dry. He licks them quickly. They still feel dry. “You were - you look like you --”

“Daniel,” Noah interrupts, like he’s scared of what might fall out of Dan’s mouth. Dan doesn’t blame him. He is, too. “It’s nothing, I just - I got caught up watching you.”

Dan’s eyebrows fly upwards. “Got caught up _watching me?_ ”

“Not like - not like _that_ , I --”

“Are you sure?” God, there is a lot of wine-courage fueling him right now. His heart is jack-hammering hard enough he’s surprised Noah can’t hear it. “Noah, what - what were you thinking, when you were sitting on that chair?”

Noah exhales a short, derisive puff of air through his nose. “I really don’t think you want me to answer that.”

“What if I do?” Dan volleys quickly, too quickly, enough that Noah straightens up in surprise. “I want… you to tell me. I want to hear it. I - I’ve _been_ wanting to hear it.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Huh.” And nothing. What the fuck does _huh_ mean?

Noah blinks slowly and leans forward to place his bottle on the coffee table. When he settles back into the couch, Dan realises they’ve drawn impossibly closer at some point. Noah stares at him, trying to read something on his face, and Dan just hopes he’s got the right things on display there for him to see.

Then Noah’s darting forward decisively, and Dan doesn’t have time to freak out because - because those are _Noah’s lips_ pressing quickly to his own, brief and hesitant and over in an anxious heartbeat. It’s off-centre - he catches the corner of his mouth, dragging on Dan’s stubble, almost close enough to his cheek that it’d pass as platonic, but the way Noah’s still _looking_ at him feels anything but.

“Sorry.” Dan is too dumbstruck to even shake his head, to tell him _no, don’t apologise, please don’t take it back_. “Just - you wanted to know. That’s what I was thinking about. And, uh - how… beautiful? You looked? The way you moved. The way you… took up the space, like you owned it all. I could have watched you for hours.”

Dan can’t speak. Or move. Is he dead?

"God, this - this stuff was a lot easier when you were writing the words for me."

Dan feels very, very far away.

Noah swallows audibly and glances at his lap. “I shouldn’t have - I’ll go, it’s cool.” He shifts to stand up, and that’s just not acceptable - Dan fumbles and grabs his wrist, pulling him back down.

“Don’t.”

“Daniel,” Noah breathes out, a weak and uncertain question, and Dan answers, “Yes,” like he was always going to, like he never dared to hope he could. He’s the one who leans in this time, and _oh thank god_ they’re kissing again, and he clings to the back of Noah’s neck to keep him from going anywhere this time. Noah’s unsure hands flutter over Dan’s thighs, his hips, before coming up to settle on his shoulders, a mirror of David’s classic move. It’s slow and sweet and Dan squeezes his eyes shut, committing every plush slide of Noah’s lips and every tiny gasp he makes against his mouth to memory, just in case this is his only chance.

Dan’s had drunken kisses before. He’s had drunken _everything_ before; mistakes, regrets, hastily-laughed-off encounters he’d rather forget. He remembers feeling awkward and vaguely unclean every time, leaving him with nothing but a hangover and a desperate need to shower. This… this is something else. Okay, it’s messy and definitely still a little awkward, both of their reflexes sluggish and their coordination shot to hell - but rather than a frantic rush, it’s a treacle-slow build of heat, far more heady than the wine. 

When Noah parts his lips and lets him press closer, he tastes like beer and the mini salted pretzels he snacked on earlier, and Dan should find it a turn-off but instead he’s so fucking hungry for it that he moans into the kiss. Noah echoes it, a gorgeous rumbly sound deep in his chest. Dan clumsily scrapes his teeth over Noah’s lip, wanting to hear it again and again.

Noah’s saying his name again - _Daniel, Daniel, Daniel,_ Dan feels each letter of it shaped against his lips rather than hears it - and he carries on answering, _yes, yes, yes,_ almost crying with relief when each affirmation pulls Noah in closer. First it’s firm hands framing his face, holding him in place to be kissed; then they slide into his hair, his scalp tingling from the scratch of blunt nails and his stomach swooping when Noah gives it a tug; and then they’re _making out_ , Noah licking into his mouth as they fall into an intoxicating push-pull, all spit-slick and hungry and punctuated with urgent gasps for more.

Noah’s hands are at his chest and Dan falls back fluidly - too fluidly, thumping his head on the arm of the couch and making Noah giggle. He’s no better, though, his knee slipping off the edge of the couch as he crawls over the top of him, sending him crashing down on top of Dan and pushing a pained _oof_ out of his chest. Noah's forehead bumps forcefully against the bridge of Dan's glasses, and he winces but still looks adorably concerned.

“Oh my god, are you - are you okay --”

“Yes, yes, mm-hmm, fine, just --”

“This couch really isn’t made for --”

“The couch is fine, oh my god, just fucking _kiss me_ ,” Dan laughs, and Noah does.

His fingers are gentle as they slide Dan's glasses safely off his face, but his mouth is ferocious and he kisses him and kisses him until his lips are numb. He only pulls away to impatiently tear open the first few buttons of Dan’s shirt and attach his mouth to his neck. Dan tips his head backwards, ignoring the throb at the back of his skull and petting at Noah’s curls. His lips seal around his skin, sucking hotly and sinking his teeth in just enough to make Dan whimper. He’s gonna leave a mark. Good - a memento, something to hold onto for a few days if this all falls apart in the morning.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispers out. He's floating somewhere between this plane and the next, his head swimming with sensation, barely aware he’s speaking but Noah catches it with a devilish grin.

“You like that?”

“Yes, obviously,” Dan moans weakly, arching back and baring his neck. Noah nips and toys with another sensitive spot, right below his ear, and Dan’s hips lift clear off the couch, colliding with Noah’s where he’s respectfully holding himself above him. It’s just a brush, but enough to tell that he’s _very_ into this. Noah lets out a whine into his neck, but stays where he is, every tendon in his body taut with the effort of holding back, even as his hands roam over Dan’s chest and stomach and hips through his shirt.

“You never - you never said anything,” Dan manages. It sounds a little accusatory. Well - it _is_. Noah let him stew over this for years - _pointlessly!_ He’d be more outraged if he wasn’t currently living out one of his top-ten fantasies. (The rest involve significantly less clothes.)

“Neither did you!” Noah sounds equally offended, pulling back to look at him.

“ _I_ had a show to worry about!”

“I had a _job_ to keep! Which of us was more likely to get fired?!” Noah snips back, eyes dancing, and suddenly they both burst into laughter, Noah leaning his forehead against Dan’s shoulder. Once his shoulders have stopped shaking, Dan smoothes a hand up his back, sensing a hesitance and waiting until Noah speaks again. “I mean, I also… y’know. I didn’t want to ruin this. What we already have. You’re... one of my best friends.”

Dan pulls back to look at him, sees his kiss-pink bottom lip caught between worrying teeth. “Just one of? Wow,” Dan quips, and Noah releases the lip in favour of a shy smile. It’s one to add to his catalogue - he thought he’d seen every smile Noah had to offer, but this soft, hesitantly hopeful curve is new. It feels special. Maybe, maybe it’s just for him. “I don’t, either. Want to ruin this, I mean.”

Noah nods, drawing himself up to sit astride Dan’s thighs. He’s all mussed up, t-shirt askew and exposing a freckled collarbone, lips all swollen as he swipes a hand through his wild curls. “Maybe we should - um. Get some sleep. Talk in the morning.”

Dan’s stomach drops. The wetness Noah’s mouth left on his neck suddenly feels cold. Of course. There it is. He lowers his eyes, shuttering his face off from Noah’s gaze. “Sure. Yeah. That - that’s smart.”

*

When Dan wakes up, it takes him a long time to make it downstairs to the couch where he left Noah in the early hours. It’s not just because of the pounding behind his eyes, or his sandpaper tongue, or the ache in his joints which reminds him every time he drinks that he’s not young anymore. There’s a sick dread shackled to his ankles, making him drag his feet.

It’s stupid. Noah _wanted_ this, last night - Dan has no reason to think otherwise.

Except that he’d also wanted to stop.

Steeling himself, Dan pokes his head around the doorway to his lounge.

The couch is empty. 

Dan blinks rapidly at the carefully folded blanket on the side, and the neatly re-arranged cushions. “Okay,” he whispers to himself, swiping the blur in his eyes away with a quick hand. This is fine. It’s fine. It’s nothing he didn’t see coming, nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Maybe he hasn’t balanced a romantic rejection with the gutting loss of his best friend, but - “Okay. Okay.”

He loses track of how long he stands there, but he’s jolted out of his contemplation by the sound of keys in the front door. Keys in - _his_ door, of his house, where he lives alone. Frowning and still a little dazed, he wanders to the foyer to find Noah letting himself in, two coffees and a cinnamon-scented paper bag in hand. He grins brightly. 

“Um. What?”

“What?” Noah says, giving him an odd look. “You were pretty much dead to the world, so, I thought… Coffee? And pastries? Sorry, I kind of stole your house keys.”

Dan stares. A smile slowly spreads over his face.

“I got a variety,” Noah adds, nervously. Dan strides over to him, cups his face - hesitates only until he clocks Noah’s hopeful glance towards his lips - and kisses him soundly. The paper bag crinkles as Noah’s fingers clench around it.

“I thought you’d left.” It sounds even more stupid when he says it out loud.

“No. What? Jesus, no. Daniel - I meant it when I said I wanted to talk. I just wanted us both to be sure we’re… on the same page. Without the aid of alcohol.”

Dan’s eyes crinkle up, and that pesky blur is back, but Noah blessedly doesn’t comment on it. “Okay, then. Let’s talk.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As always, please feel free to leave a kudos/comment - I love hearing from you guys. <3


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